


To Have Loved and Lost

by twitchtipthegnawer



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Child Death, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-27
Updated: 2018-09-27
Packaged: 2019-07-18 09:08:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16115267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twitchtipthegnawer/pseuds/twitchtipthegnawer
Summary: As the world rebuilt itself in the wake of the revolution, Connor found he was far more preoccupied with fixing his own perceptions than he was with fixing society. And that was alright; it wasn't as though Hank was hurrying him, after all.Maybe what Connor needed was a push, though. Even if it had to come from an outsider, and even if it had to leave him shaking on the ground, shattered in every way he could think of but one.





	To Have Loved and Lost

**Author's Note:**

> Commissioned by @l3ubbleknight on tumblr! I hope you all, uh, enjoy. I'll just be sitting over here with a stockpile of tissues and chocolate :"")

“We’ll take the case.”

Fowler and Hank stopped in the middle of their argument to stare at Connor. It would’ve been funny how similar their faces were, if they weren’t in the middle of such a serious discussion. “You sure changed your tune fast,” Hank said suspiciously.

“It’s the right thing to do,” said Connor, as if that was his only motivation for agreeing to this.

“...Alright.” Fowler nodded with finality. “It’s decided then.”

Hank looked between Fowler and Connor, and finally his shoulders slumped. “You’re sleeping on the couch.” Hank said it like this might change Connor’s mind.

“I told you, giving me the guest room was unnecessary in the first place.”

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Hank walked out of the room with his head ducked low. Connor had to swallow hard; he hadn’t meant it like  _ that, _ but he didn’t know how to correct the assumption and stay honest.

Months ago, when the revolution had been heating up and a deadline looming over their heads, Connor had made Hank an offer. Remembering it made Connor’s face flush, but at the time he’d seen nothing embarrassing about it.

“If you’d like an intimate partner, Hank, I’d be happy to fill the role.”

For a moment, Connor thought Hank may have stopped breathing. A quick scan told him his lungs were fine, though his heart rate was elevated. Setting his coffee down very deliberately on his kitchen counter, Hank turned around and said, “What makes you say that?”

“I noticed the magazine the night I came to pick you up for a case. Paying for companionship seems inefficient when you have a willing android at your disposal.”

Something about that was the wrong thing to say. Rather than flush, Hank simply rubbed a hand tiredly against his face. “No.”

Connor frowned, stepped closer, until they were nearly chest-to-chest. “Statistically speaking, both the physical activity and emotional release will - ”

“No. I’m not going to fuck you, Connor.”

At the time, it had been a puzzling thing. Connor was fairly certain Hank found him attractive, or at least didn’t find him  _ unpleasant _ to look at. He’d assumed his extrapolations based on the magazine were incorrect, or that a combination of alcohol and depression had sapped Hank’s enthusiasm for actually  _ engaging _ in such activities.

Now, the memory made Connor’s throat feel tight. Deviancy granted a wonderful clarity about other people’s states of mind, since he now had a direct sample to compare them to. And he knew what he must’ve sounded like: a soulless machine trying to complete a mission however it could.  _ Of course _ Hank had rejected him.

How ironic that the same thing making that rejection hurt made it nearly impossible to broach the subject again.

Thankfully, they had something to distract them from unpleasant memories. Namely, a YK500 model fidgeting in one of the hard plastic chairs in the police department.

“Hannah?” Hank’s voice sounded impossibly soft when he knelt beside her. It made Connor’s chest ache inexplicably. “Sorry it took so long for us to talk to the chief, sweetie. Are you ready to go now?”

Wide-eyed, the little girl looked between Hank and Connor. “I can go with you? For real?”

“Just for the next few days,” Connor clarified.

“I know,” she said, as if it was obvious, then hopped off her chair. “I’m ready to go.”

Despite the vehement protests he’d just voiced, Hank got Hannah buckled into the car with more gentleness than Connor had ever seen from him. He chatted with her the whole drive back, while Connor simply observed. He was good at that, and so he could catch every moment where Hank got tripped up; the furrow in his brow as she talked about her favorite tv show, the white knuckles on the steering wheel when she quietly said she missed playing with legos.

As soon as they got to the house, Hank deposited Hannah on the couch with a quick, “Wait here,” then beckoned Connor to follow him with a dismissive hand. Shrugging helplessly at Hannah, who seemed more confused than upset, Connor obeyed.

In the garage, Hank climbed up a rickety ladder to get to a series of cardboard boxes high on a shelf. They were unlabelled, but as he passed them down to Connor he realized what they must be. Swallowing, Connor said softly, “You don’t have to.”

“Don’t have to what?” Hank grunted as he lifted a second one, then handed it down.

The weight was easy enough for Connor to bear, comparatively. “Don’t have to let her… play with these. She might look like a child, but she has enough processing power to understand the situation. She doesn’t expect you to have anything on hand.”

Hank’s hand slipped, and only Connor’s quick reflexes prevented the final box from hitting the ground. Connor let out a relieved breath, though it wasn’t physically necessary, and looked up to find Hank staring at him.

Sounding more than a bit disgruntled, Hank said, “How’d you figure that one out, then?”

“Intuition?” Connor all but hid behind the boxes in his hands.

“Intuition,” Hank said it like he was trying to be teasing, but something was off. “Guess you deviants really are more human, then.”

What did that mean? Connor was afraid to ask. And besides, they had a little girl in the living room they’d kept waiting.

Predictably, she clapped her hands and bounced out of her seat when Connor began pulling toys out of the boxes. He didn’t open all three; he didn’t see the need to lay Hank’s memories out over his living room floor like that. Just a few, that was more than enough to occupy Hannah. And Hank too, for that matter, as he showed her how to hook up a game console.

Here, Hank looked less stressed than he had in the car, and that only became more true as the night wore on. Connor eventually stood to make dinner, though only one person in the house would be eating.

This was so much better than dinner with just Connor and Hank. Hannah kept conversation flowing, as though the murder case she was a witness for wasn’t on her mind in the slightest. Android compartmentalization, Connor supposed, though Hank was doing just as much of it.

They shouldn’t get used to it. Soon, Hannah’s date to testify in court would come, and she would be… well, Connor wasn’t sure if anyone quite knew what they were doing with her, actually. Witness protection for androids hadn’t exactly been something they’d expected to need legislature on.

All three of them went to bed that night with something weighing on their shoulders. Connor tucked Hannah into the guest bed, since Hank was busy showering. He hesitated, smoothing the sheets over her shoulders.

“Would you like me to read you a bedtime story?” He asked, awkwardly.

She shook her head, and he slumped a bit. Her giggle was cute, but it died down quickly.

“Mister Connor?”

“What is it, Hannah?”

“At the police station, they told me the - the bad men can’t find me. But then I heard someone say “tracker,” and I know what that word means. Will you tell me the truth, please? Can they find me?” Her eyes were so, so wide, and so, so scared.

Closing his own, Connor wished for strength he didn’t have. Deviancy raising its double edged sword once again, though in the end, he did as she asked.

“All androids have a tracker installed. In most deviants, it’s stopped working, but… some of us who were freed by Markus instead of deviating on our own…”

Hannah nodded, her tiny jaw wobbling as tears welled up. “So they can find me?”

“We don’t know that,” Connor hurried to say, his hands hovering awkwardly as he tried to decide how to hug her. “They might not have the technology, or know your number - ”

As it turned out, Hannah decided for him, sitting up so suddenly her forehead knocked into his shoulder. He tried to apologize, but she was already burying her face in the collar of his shirt, sniffling. “Thank you,” she said eventually. “Thank you.” Connor had no idea how to respond, so he simply held her awkwardly until she slumped into sleep and he could lay her back down.

His footsteps made barely a sound as he tiptoed from the room, but he nearly ruined it by yelping in surprise when he opened the door to see Hank leaning against the wall right beside it. “You were listening?” He whispered, when it felt like his thirium pump was done trying to pound its way from his chest.

“You’re better with her than I expected,” Hank said gruffly.

“Thank you?”

There was a moment of silence, Hank searching for words Connor couldn’t guess at, and then, “I can take the couch, tonight.”

“I told you, that’s not necessary.” Connor paced towards the kitchen, not wanting to wake Hannah with their conversation, and Hank followed. “I don’t require rest the way you or child-model androids do, and I know your back’s been bothering you.”

The sour expression on Hank’s face had Connor cracking a smile, even more so when Hank said, “Not supposed to make guests sleep on the couch, though. Whether or not they need it.”

“I’m hardly a guest. I’ve commandeered your house so long, I practically live here.”

“Ain’t that the truth.” Hank snorted, then grabbed a cup off the counter to fill with water before bed. Connor thought it might’ve been a ritual from when he still drank himself to sleep each night. “Don’t know why you don’t get your own place already.”

“Because I like being with you.”

Not until the words were out did Connor realize what they would sound like. He watched water spill around Hank’s hand into the sink, and swallowed hard. It took a couple of tries to dislodge his voice.

“I’m… going to the living room.”

Smooth, Connor. Very smooth.

In spite of hiccups like that, the next week was almost unbelievably nice. It made Connor anxious, actually, how well things went. The murderer who’d stabbed someone right in front of Hannah made bail, but Hank and Connor’s watchful eyes didn’t catch so much as a car with an expired license anywhere near them.

Coming back from a run to the precinct for a couple files he’d wanted to look over (which were too sensitive to be remotely accessible), Connor walked in the door to find Hank struggling to separate two legos which had apparently fused. Hannah just kept repeating, “You have to use your nails,” as though Hank’s bitten-down stubs would be helpful.

Such a simple image. Yet it made Connor want to cry, and he wasn’t sure what to do with that. Hank said, without looking up, “Don’t just stand there asshole, help me out here.”

As Connor used his sculpted perfect plastic nails to do just that, Sumo ran into the room and tackled Hannah to the floor. Hank told the big dog off, the little girl laughed, and Connor could do nothing but think this must be what  _ peace _ felt like. More than anything, it made him want to hang onto this as long as possible.

So of course it came to an end.

After Hannah’s testimony, they exited the courthouse. Connor and Hank had both been there on her request, as emotional support, though neither was actually involved in the case. Hannah had been brave, her voice barely wavering throughout, and she even managed to smile as Hank talked about the social worker who’d be coming by later that night.

Hannah said, “When she gets here, I wanna ask her - ”

Her little voice cut off as gunshots ripped the air apart.

Chips flew off the brick building behind Hank, who cried out in alarm. Connor felt impacts in his body: two in his right arm, one in his leg, three in his side. He stumbled to one knee, gasped, then looked up just in time to see the gunman hit his target.

Little Hannah fell directly towards Connor as hole after hole ripped into her sternum - her core. If any other part of an android was injured, they could be repaired with their personality more or less intact, especially if they received immediate assistance. But if her core was destroyed, then. Then.  _ Then. _

Shouts rang out around him, Hank identifying the car the shots had come from, passerby screaming in terror at the blue soaking the sidewalk, someone emerging from a shop front with a cell phone in hand, brandishing it like a weapon. But all Connor could focus on was the press of his hands into hidden latches in Hannah’s chest, get her Core out before thirium could flood into places it didn’t belong or drain out of places it did, assess the damage.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Hank rasped next to him. Connor looked up only long enough to confirm that his only injury was a small cut to the cheek.

“Her core, I have to, to get it out, I,” Connor stuttered over his words, and he wasn’t sure if it was the damage he’d taken or if it was the emotions.

Even then, he knew it was a lost cause. Her core was a mess of mangled wet and plastic, hard edges cutting his synthetic skin as he pulled it out and cradled it against his chest. Her eyes were lifeless, staring up at the sky.

Probably, Hank threw up at the gruesome sight of the broken-open girl. Connor wanted to apologize, but the words died on his lips.

Hours passed in a haze. Connor knew Hank gave a statement, knew he was taken aside to a small room so a nurse could wipe him clean with very gentle hands. Knew Hank drove them home in a car so silent Connor thought his shoulders might crumble under the weight of it.

But none of it mattered, right up until Hank cut the engine and sat in the dark driveway for a long moment. Tension built, and built, until -

“Damnit damnit  _ damnit!” _

Each shout was punctuated with a hard blow to the steering wheel. Connor scrunched his hands into fists and then his fists into his eyes, as if it would help.

Hank stormed into the kitchen, and Connor calculated a 97% chance of him going straight to the liquor he thought Connor didn’t know about in the pantry. Still, forcing his limbs to move took more effort than he thought he could manage.

Of course, he managed it. Dragged himself to the door, which still sat a bit open. He closed it behind him, leaned his forehead against it, took a deep breath.

“What a joke,” Hank said, right behind him.

“What?” Connor turned, pressed his back to the front door and fixed his eyes on the bottle of whiskey Hank held in a white-knuckled grip.

“Every time I think I can have something good, life’s just gotta come spit in my fuckin’ face, huh? How many times do I haveta see a kid die before it’s  _ enough?” _

Hank struck out at the wall, his knuckles sending cracks spider webbing through the drywall. Connor closed his eyes.

“And I’ll bet you’re gonna leave too, now,” Hank took a swig, heavy swallows interspersing his words. Connor’s chest ached.

“No, I - ”

“Won’t? Ha!” Hank’s footsteps retreated, and when Connor made himself look, he saw him heading for the kitchen. As if pulled along on a chain, Connor followed, listening to his words with a growing sense of dread. “You like being with me, you said? Sure, it’s easy when everything’s coming up roses, but that ain’t me, Connor. I’m not gonna be sober all the time. I’m a washed up fuck of a cop, and you’re gonna realize it - ”

“I’m in love with you!”

They went still. There was a dripping sound; the whiskey bottle held at an odd angle, a few measly drops falling to the linoleum. Hank searched Connor’s face for answers he wasn’t sure he had.

“No, you’re not.”

“Don’t tell me how I feel,” Connor shot back, surprised at the anger bubbling up inside him.

And then it was like a tidal wave, unstoppable, because what was one more moment of misery in a day like today?

“You’re always - you condemn yourself to this, to the drinking and the, the being alone, and I. I understand you don’t want me, like that, like I want you, but you can’t pretend you weren’t happy. With Han - her, being here, and me, and Sumo. And as long as I can make you happy, even a little, even if it’s just helping you get through this and even if I have to hide your gun to do it, I’m not leaving. I’m not - I’m not your  _ wife!” _

That was, apparently, answer enough for Hank. He slumped back against the cabinets and rubbed his free hand with his face. “Fuck,” he said. “Just… fuck.”

Connor seconded that sentiment.

“I didn’t know you had that in you,” Hank tried, when he got no response.

“Neither did I,” said Connor.

There was still too much unspoken between them. Connor’s hands itched to take the bottle from Hank, to grab his face, to drag him by the wrist back out of the house and, well, anywhere that didn’t have memories dragging knives through their frayed nerves. But any of those things required more heart than he had in him, at the moment, especially after his outburst.

So instead he just took one step forward, two, on a newly repaired leg he didn’t feel he deserved, and pressed his forehead into Hank’s chest.

The old cop didn’t startle when Connor touched him, but it was a near thing. And his arms, when he raised them to wrap Connor in a feather-light hug, shook. But it was a start.

“Maybe,” Hank said, gruffly. “Maybe I could… Connor…”

His words, though most remained unspoken, caused Connor’s throat to close up. He nodded, and Hank rested his cheek on top of Connor’s head. There wasn’t enough height difference between them for it to be comfortable, even slumped as Connor was, but it didn’t matter.

Today was a bad day. Tomorrow would be, too; Connor wasn’t naive enough to deny that. But there was always the next day, and the next. And they would see them through, together. They’d won the revolution, right? They could do this, too.


End file.
